Read Online Ekaterina by Susan May Warren, Susan K. Downs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan May Warren, Susan K. Downs
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once. When I helped him package it.”
“How did he get my address? How did he know me?”
“He had a picture of you.”
Kat wrestled with her racing heartbeat. “Of me? How?”
“It was in his Bible.”
“Do you still have it?” This news had stirred Captain Vadeem out of his stupor.
The monk shot a look at Spasonov. “I’m not sure. Perhaps. I gathered his things and gave them to the father. I don’t know.”
“Did he have any other pictures? Anything else that might tie me to him?”
“One other picture. A black and white of a woman. I think she was American. Her name was Russian, however. I remember it, because he said it sometimes, in prayer. Nadezhda.”
“Hope,” Kat whispered. She fingered the shoelace that held the key around her neck. “That was my mother’s name.”
She felt the captain’s eyes on her, burning into her. “How would he know your mother?”
“She was Russian, or at least her mother was Russian. I think my grandfather met her here, during the war.”
“Perhaps Timofea was related to your grandmother.”
The young monk shook his head. “Brother Timofea had no family. He had a few horror stories. Some relatives died in the Red Army massacre in 1918, others at the hands of the Nazis. But I’m pretty sure he was the sole survivor. He once told me about it.”
Kat leaned back on her hands, her palms digging into the dirt. She lifted her face to the bloom of the sun. “I never met my grandmother. She died when my mother was a baby.”
“I’m sorry.” This from Captain Vadeem. She met his blue eyes, and saw genuine sympathy, the kind that knows pain. It found a soft place in her heart, right next to the memory of him saving her life.
“It’s okay,” she said, fighting free of the thought. “My mother was raised by a loving father. He never remarried, but we know he loved grandmother. Her name was Magda.”
“So Brother Timofea somehow knew Miss Moore’s mother.” Captain Vadeem seemed to be recovering, his voice gaining strength, energy outlining his blue eyes. He looked worlds apart from the shell-shocked soldier who looked like he’d seen death materialize from the chapel walls.
Or like a child who’d just watched his world crumble.
It ripped a hole in her heart. She knew too many children whose world had shattered. It hurt to see it relived on an adult. What secrets did Captain Vadeem Spasonov have hidden behind those bone-piercing blue eyes?
He turned them on her, and for a second, they rattled her right off her footing.
She’d better get a grip on her goals. She’d come to Russia to unearth her past, not to drown in the rugged magnetism of a Russian cop, even if he did have dark, curly hair that begged to be smoothed, and arms that still made her tremble when she thought of them locked around her. . .
She forced her voice out of heart-struck paralysis and stared pointedly at the monk. “Brother Timofea never mentioned the key, or me? Just one day decided to send me a letter?” Her voice was harsh, but her time ticked down.
“He was a strong man, his quiet presence always gave me strength to face my own fears. But he was aged, and after awhile, his old bones wouldn’t even allow him to kneel to pray. He told me that God asked him to fulfill the promise.”
“Fulfill the promise? What promise?”
“An old promise. Something from his youth. He began to see people who were long gone, perhaps memories dredged up by a mind sorting out time and place. One day we had a conversation, only he spoke not to me, but someone else. ‘Oksana’, he said, ‘He has promised, and He is faithful. He will repay the years the locusts have eaten’.”
The monk paused, his voice low and choppy. “Even in senility, he had more faith than I have in my youth.”
Kat’s blinked at him. “But you’re a monk. Your life is devoted to God.”
He sighed. “But I have few moments to truly test my faith. It is not faith honed from the scrapes and blows of life
“How did he get my address? How did he know me?”
“He had a picture of you.”
Kat wrestled with her racing heartbeat. “Of me? How?”
“It was in his Bible.”
“Do you still have it?” This news had stirred Captain Vadeem out of his stupor.
The monk shot a look at Spasonov. “I’m not sure. Perhaps. I gathered his things and gave them to the father. I don’t know.”
“Did he have any other pictures? Anything else that might tie me to him?”
“One other picture. A black and white of a woman. I think she was American. Her name was Russian, however. I remember it, because he said it sometimes, in prayer. Nadezhda.”
“Hope,” Kat whispered. She fingered the shoelace that held the key around her neck. “That was my mother’s name.”
She felt the captain’s eyes on her, burning into her. “How would he know your mother?”
“She was Russian, or at least her mother was Russian. I think my grandfather met her here, during the war.”
“Perhaps Timofea was related to your grandmother.”
The young monk shook his head. “Brother Timofea had no family. He had a few horror stories. Some relatives died in the Red Army massacre in 1918, others at the hands of the Nazis. But I’m pretty sure he was the sole survivor. He once told me about it.”
Kat leaned back on her hands, her palms digging into the dirt. She lifted her face to the bloom of the sun. “I never met my grandmother. She died when my mother was a baby.”
“I’m sorry.” This from Captain Vadeem. She met his blue eyes, and saw genuine sympathy, the kind that knows pain. It found a soft place in her heart, right next to the memory of him saving her life.
“It’s okay,” she said, fighting free of the thought. “My mother was raised by a loving father. He never remarried, but we know he loved grandmother. Her name was Magda.”
“So Brother Timofea somehow knew Miss Moore’s mother.” Captain Vadeem seemed to be recovering, his voice gaining strength, energy outlining his blue eyes. He looked worlds apart from the shell-shocked soldier who looked like he’d seen death materialize from the chapel walls.
Or like a child who’d just watched his world crumble.
It ripped a hole in her heart. She knew too many children whose world had shattered. It hurt to see it relived on an adult. What secrets did Captain Vadeem Spasonov have hidden behind those bone-piercing blue eyes?
He turned them on her, and for a second, they rattled her right off her footing.
She’d better get a grip on her goals. She’d come to Russia to unearth her past, not to drown in the rugged magnetism of a Russian cop, even if he did have dark, curly hair that begged to be smoothed, and arms that still made her tremble when she thought of them locked around her. . .
She forced her voice out of heart-struck paralysis and stared pointedly at the monk. “Brother Timofea never mentioned the key, or me? Just one day decided to send me a letter?” Her voice was harsh, but her time ticked down.
“He was a strong man, his quiet presence always gave me strength to face my own fears. But he was aged, and after awhile, his old bones wouldn’t even allow him to kneel to pray. He told me that God asked him to fulfill the promise.”
“Fulfill the promise? What promise?”
“An old promise. Something from his youth. He began to see people who were long gone, perhaps memories dredged up by a mind sorting out time and place. One day we had a conversation, only he spoke not to me, but someone else. ‘Oksana’, he said, ‘He has promised, and He is faithful. He will repay the years the locusts have eaten’.”
The monk paused, his voice low and choppy. “Even in senility, he had more faith than I have in my youth.”
Kat’s blinked at him. “But you’re a monk. Your life is devoted to God.”
He sighed. “But I have few moments to truly test my faith. It is not faith honed from the scrapes and blows of life
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